The Doomsday Device
by Holly Chase
Summary: My Day of Doom Week entry, for silvershadewolf's contest. Monday: Remember (1st). Tuesday: Little Painter. Wednesday: Hierarchy. Thursday: Purple Sky (1st). Friday: Dirty. Saturday: Guarded (1st). Sunday: Aftermath of War.
1. Entry 1: Remember

**DAY ONE: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot.  
DAY TWO: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot - Must be set sometime in the past: before the clue hunt.  
DAY THREE: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot - Must break the Fourth Wall* or include it somehow.  
DAY FOUR: a drabble of any kind.  
DAY FIVE: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot.  
DAY SIX: any Guardian-related drabble or oneshot.  
DAY SEVEN: any kind of drabble or oneshot.**

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_Format: Oneshot_

_Word Count: 1,209_

_Character(s): Isabel Kabra_

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**The Doomsday Device - 1**

**Remember**

The body dropped to the floor with a thud that made little Belle's blood run cold. Hand stuffed in her mouth to prevent herself from crying out, she almost retched as her mother's face appeared before her, visible through the crack of the ajar cupboard door.

The usual warm-coca colouring of her mother's face was tinted with a deathly pallor and her eyes were glassy, staring and blank as amber. For the first time in Issie's life she felt truly and utterly frightened. Her mother, much like her father, had been indestructible. She had seen people tip-toe around them, as if they were a ticking bomb and Issie could only guess at the amount of power they must hold.

"Search the room," a cutting, rough voice said quietly. Belle knew a powerful person when she heard one, and shrank back in her cupboard. She knew that voice…

"The girl can't be far from here, she never leaves her mother's side," Belle blinked back frightened tears, her cupboard door swung open and a cry of triumph sounded. Belle prepared herself for a fight, gripping the hilt of her concealed dart-gun, but before she could do any more than locate the base, a huge hand had grabbed her by the back of her nightdress. Belle was held aloft like a kitten by the scruff of its neck, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

Belle let out a squeak, before choking off her next frightened cry in shame. She didn't want to feel frightened. Fear was for cowards, not Lucian's.

The rough voice sounded in a chuckle. "Pass her to me," for a brief moment, as Belle was released by her nightdress, she pondered on making a quick escape. She quickly shoved away that idea; that would be a last resort; better to see what her enemies, for that was what they had to be, wanted.

"Aw, she's shivering," crooned another, softer voice; the voice of a woman. Belle let no emotion appear on her face, but inside she was in turmoil. She knew that voice too! "I think you've scared her, Louis." At that, Belle let her indignation surface in the form of a weak wriggle.

Once she had been safely deposited into the hands of who she assumed to be the powerful man who had spoken first. Her theory was confirmed a second later when he spoke. "What's your name, dearie?" Belle thought for a moment, he knew who she was, he had to. She answered honestly.

"Isabel Hollingsworth," she said in a clear voice that she used for answering the telephone and the door. Through the dim light she could just make out a smile. It wasn't a friendly smile, rather a leer that made Belle want to back away.

"Good," he said. "Good,"

"Just as well it's her," the woman's voice came again. "With all the trouble we've spent catching up, it would've been a real shame for it all to have been for nothing." Her accent was American and very familiar. Belle cast her gaze towards her mother's body, lying at an unnatural angle on the hearth, dying flames singeing her black locks. She sensed that her mother's death had not been anticipated.

"You're right," a third voice lisped. Belle wanted to shout, she recognized all these voices! – But where from? "But we all knew it might have to come to this,"

"That doesn't make me feel any better," snapped the accented voice. "She is –was my friend."

"Annette was a friend to all of us," the powerful man spoke again, "but she made a foolish decision in turning on the Vespers. She knew what the price would be,"

Belle let out a gasp, she shoved her hands hard against her captor's chest, but her was as immovable as rock. She knew what the Vesper's were, not officially of course, her mother was most careful as to what was discussed around her daughter; and she knew that they had killed her father. And now her mother too. Oblivious to her struggles, she was drawn closer into, what she supposed should've been, a comforting embrace.

"Don't worry," the woman with the American accent reassured her. "You remember me, don't you?" A face loomed over Belle.

"Aunt Marie!" Belle's fear turned to relief and then to anger. Aunt Marie had been her mother's best friend.

"Belle, it's been a while," Belle didn't reply. "I suppose you want an explanation?" Belle gave a swift nod, and everyone in the room was reminded forcefully of her mother. "Well, I suppose it's a long story and we have little time."

"_Ja_, there shall be time for answers in the coming days," a rich, male voice intoned. "All she needs to know is the truth. Leonetta, if you will?" The sounds of footsteps echoed through the house.

"She's gone to start the engine," Marie explained.

"Of the car?" asked Belle, a scoffing noise sounded.

"Ze _car_?" an incredulous voice called from somewhere in the hall.

"She's only six, give her a break," Marie called back, then to Issie: "No, not the car, the jet. We need to make a quick getaway." Belle nodded dazedly. "Belle, listen to me," Marie spoke urgently and quietly. "We didn't want to kill your mother or your father, but they had done something rather bad to the people we work for."

"Zey 'ad completely dis- disre- oh, what iz zee word? Zey _ignored_ zeir orderz." Called the voice from the hall again, "Zey 'ad to be eliminated." Marie shot an ugly glare towards the door and nodded her head once in the direction of Louis, who rapidly left the scene.

"Belle, we're here for you," Marie's wide eyes were pleading and clear. "Not to hurt you, but to look after you," Belle felt the honeyed words seep over her, of course Marie wouldn't hurt her; how could she? Not with such a truthful, honest voice surely?

"Look… after… me?" Belle stumbled. Abruptly she was pulled from her uncomfortable capture and seized into a hug. Rose scent engulfed her and rich, mineral-ly shampoo filled her nostrils.

"That's right, sweetie," Marie's minty-fresh breath washed over her. "You're safe now, and haven't I got a lot to tell you?" Belle nodded. Her gaze grazed her mother's limp form; she remembered her father's broken body. Then she blinked and buried her face in Marie's sweet smelling hair. She was safe now.

* * *

_"The Vespers! They're here!" Edward shouted, rushing from the bay window. "Annette, take Belle and run!" Belle dropped her toys at once, stretching her arms to be picked up. She was used to running suddenly now. They had been running since Tuesday. _

_"Damn, my brother," Edward paused, "Pardon my French?" he offered lamely before pulling a Sig Sauer from underneath his jacket. Annette kissed her husband briefly, grabbed her daughter and rushed towards the escape from the other exit in the kitchenette._

_ Gun shots could be heard for miles around and the next day, Edward Vesper-Hollingsworth was confirmed as dead. Annette cried, hugging her daughter to her shaking chest. She knew that if Edward had been killed, she would be next. Slowly, she fastened her most prized possession to her daughter's slim wrist._

_"Remember me, Belle." She said, "Remember me."_


	2. Entry 2: Little Painter

_Format: Drabble_

_Word count: 100_

_Character(s): Damien Vesper (1st or 2nd), Luke Cahill and Jane Cahill_

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**The Doomsday Device – 2**

**Little Painter**

Damien Vesper watched the reunion with interest, wondering how two siblings could be so fond of one another. He had killed his brother for power. In his family, dominance was everything.

The boy grazed the surroundings, stopping twice where Damien lurked. Finally, the siblings released each other; relief in their voices, they headed away from the fisher village.

Damien smiled; Luke stopped and raised his head, like a snake tasting the air. Then, before Damien could move, amber eyes were locked against his. Luke placed his hand on his little sister's shoulder protectively.

He would take the little painter first.

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**Hey! Taking ideas for my Wednesday oneshor/drabble. Must break the fourth wall or include it somehow.**


	3. Entry 3: Hierarchy

**A/N: I had a bit of trouble with this one so I went over my given hour... anyway...**

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_Format: (Short) Oneshot_

_Word count: 566_

_Character(s): Luna Amato_

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**The Doomsday Device – 3**

**Hierarchy**

Static is all that can be heard, that and the ragged breaths of your exhausted team mates. Iggy cusses and throws her ear-piece into the boggy rivulet. The immediate reaction is to report her for property vandal, the impetuous fourteen year old has almost given away their positions a hundred too many times, you think that she probably would've been exiled long ago had not her 'skills' come in very handy. This time no one even makes a sound. Secretly, you think that everyone else wishes to do exactly the same. Only your orders stop you from following suit. Your _special_ orders.

You straighten up; Vesper five had said that as you were the most experienced in the field, you would be leading this escapade. It was an honour, and not one to be taken lightly. The last person chosen from the army ranks like you had swiftly moved up the Vesper ranks to number three before being killed off by six. You won't make the same mistakes of relaxed security. And before anyone knows you'll be atop of the metaphorical pyramid.

"Spock," you hiss into your mic. "Spock, Red; are you there? Is this some kind of challenge?" There is no reply and by now the other members of the scouting group are leaning against slim willow trees and switching their phones from silence. Phones were meant to be handed in before take-off. Once again, you say nothing.

You switch channels to the sky-liners. "Eagle," you say, "Eagle, do you read?" This was getting ridiculous, this was supposed to be the best moment of your miserable life, and you were sitting here with no signal on a mossy boulder.

You straighten up, "I'm going out a bit," you say; Iggy nods vaguely and glances at her chipped nails. She scowls as suddenly a screaming noise cut through the forest.

"Omigosh! It's Edward Cullen!" The statement was followed with another shriek.

"Merlin! I can see Harry Potter!" Another set of yells broke out.

"What the Hades? Why isn't Nico di Angelo here!" an indignant voice called, "he has to confess his love for me and then we ride off into the sunset, at least, that's what we do on fanfiction!"

"Oh shut up, Mary," You aren't too surprised at the voices screaming random names, it's how everyone starts out. You began yelling the name, "Artemis!"

You shake your head as the others begin to text each other, just as well you won't be expected to work with these imbeciles much longer, they completely ruin your reputation. Frankly you find it amazing that Vesper five even noticed you among all these kiddies, they had no idea who was watching them.

You shove through the trees, opening into a clearing. You test the signal; no bars, _still_? Something flickers in the corner of your eye, a moving dot? You flash down the visor on your helmet, zooming in manually. The dashing flicker gradually turned into a figure with frantically waving arms. Eagle? You recognize his winged T-shirt and floppy hair that he'd been told to cut at least once a week since his arrival three years ago.

He's shouting something; you can't hear him and instead, zoom onto his face and flash back the footage of the last couple of minutes. Something's up with your lenses though, his mouth looks as though a gag has been put over it, although you a can see his face movement. Something must be seriously wrong with the equipment, maybe it's time to call for a retreat.

You turn around, and a gun barrel is suddenly pressed to your forehead. A silencer fitted around the trigger. Vesper five's face appears.

"Sorry about this, but you're too good," you wonder briefly whether or not it would be suitable to feel proud. "I can't have any competition, you understand, right? You'd do the same," you want to protest, but you know it's true.

"You're dead," she says calmly.


	4. Entry 4: Purple Sky

_Format: Drabble_

_Word Count: 100_

_Character(s): Sandy and Dan_

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**The Doomsday Device – 4**

**Purple Sky**

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Sandy looked at the sky, he smiled; it was time.

* * *

Ophelia watched the clouds zoom past at impossible speeds.

* * *

Derik ran, grabbing his sister's arm, they made it to the town hall just as a bolt struck the pavement.

* * *

Maia stared in disbelief at the charred remains of her home.

* * *

Will had never felt rain like this before, it tickled his skin; and then his hand dissolved.

* * *

Tracy ushered another couple of kids from her classroom and turned off the light switch, she wouldn't be coming back.

* * *

Dan felt the shaking stop and the rain ease. His mind forever scarred.


	5. Entry 5: Dirty

_Format: Oneshot_

_Word Count: 1,016_

_Character(s): Casper (Damien and Cheyenne mentioned)_

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**The Doomsday Device – 5**

**Dirty**

Casper shivered in the bitterly cold wind, drawing his coat closer to his muscular body. He stopped underneath a dull street lamp, studying the freshly pressed note's directions. They were straightforward, spelled correctly and written in a clear hand; he couldn't get out of this.

Silently cursing God, karma and his damn natural talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time – as things often seemed to play with him – and Damien's sly, immoral mind; Casper took the first left, carefully zigzagging his footprints in the snow. He hated assignments like these. He was always chosen for them, too.

He didn't like to mention them, and they were never brought up. Cheyenne would work it out when he didn't show up at the hotel until the next morning and he would avoid Damien's shaming grins and Sandy's smirks. Sometimes he wished that he didn't look the way he did, if he wasn't totally ripped and was without his 'bad-boy' aura; which, apparently, was what girls looked for, maybe things for him could be different. He wouldn't get chosen for things like this. His loyalty wouldn't be strained and pulled in an uncomfortably tight pattern. He wouldn't feel so bloody _awful_ all the time.

Casper wished he could trade places with just about every guy he passed in the street, they could just get on with their lives, not worrying about the contamination of their souls and the lives of their twins. With their brown-eyed-and-haired complexion that could tan easily and their steady girlfriends who never would even think twice about cheating; they were so lucky.

His world had never been like that, girls had thrown themselves at his feet back at high-school and, unlike Cheyenne who turned down every guy in the school; some twice over, he accepted their lies of love and fondling. He followed his directions, left twice, passed the 'splayed oak' – Casper check for any other trees he could mistake for it, none – and then right and past the 'world's best coffee shop'. He had dated just about every girl in his year, the one above and most of the three below.

Casper glared up at the hotel, his instructions were signed with a flourished '_x_', he grimaced and ripped the paper to shreds after memorizing the inscribed numbers. He hated Damien Vesper's warped sense of humour. The boy had no idea what it was like to feel dirty and inhumane and numb for a cause that he wasn't quite so sure about any more.

Damien _always_ got someone else to do his more _murky_ work, and, since falling out of favour in Switzerland, Casper had become scapegoat number one.

Resigning himself to his fate, Casper strode purposefully towards the slowly revolving doors, they were glass and he could see the people waiting inside. He took a deep breath, summoning all his strength. Damien would have him killed if he didn't get this done; and done right at that.

He entered the polished building, every surface visible was shiny and clean, Casper felt grimy and wanted nothing more than to head back to his shared suite and take a long, _long_ shower until nothing of the contamination remained.

Unfortunately, Casper didn't have the option; he had a job to do.

Taking long, self-assured strides towards the reception sign-in desk, he posed with an easy smile that showed, what he hoped would come across as, confidence and none of the emotional turmoil he felt inside. The desk attendant shot him a toothy smile which had a suggestive twinkle, or maybe Casper was just seeing things now.

"Room number, er," Casper took a second to recall the three digits that had been underline three times in red ink with the words 'you forget this and you die' etched with a spiky flourish; apparently, Damien was fed up with subtlety. "Room number seven-three-five," Abruptly, the attendant lowered her voice to a huskier tone that betrayed secret cigarettes, taken on street corners.

"Carmine Gowspy?" she used one of his pseudonyms, he nodded. She slipped a purple note across the desktop and popped the key-card into his outstretched hand. Casper curled his fingers into a fist around the card and scanned the note. His tie suddenly felt uncomfortably tight around his Adam's apple, he loosened his collar with two fingers and gulped in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner.

Turning towards the lift, Casper pulled the woollen coat from his shoulders and undid his jacket buttons. The floors dinged by and Casper felt his dread escalate to an immense mountain of despair. Swiftly masking his emotions with an iron façade, it had been practiced to absolute perfection.

Checking his hair in the reflective metal, the floors lit-up and went out as they were passed by the rising elevator. His hair had been carefully tousled in a carefree, boyish way that accented his high cheekbones and whilst giving the impression of effortlessness, had actually taken over an hour to achieve.

Finally, Casper stepped out of the iron box; stretched his arms and cricked his neck with a wince. Time to get this over with. Crossing the red-carpeted corridor in seven lengthy strides, Casper paused outside of the cream-coloured door, taking a deep, calming inhalation of air, Casper raised his fist a knocked three times. He heard the pitter-pattering of heeled footsteps and, inserting the micro-chipped card into the arrowed slot, the door beeped open. The hall was dark and Casper was assaulted by a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Do you have the information?" Casper asked, prolonging the oncoming attack for as long as possible.

"Yes," she reached inside her top and pulled out a notepad, Casper reached for it but she pulled away teasingly. "Payment first," she said. She looped her hand around his tie, tugging it taunt and pulled him forwards; she pressed her lips to his and tangled one of her sweaty palms into his blond hair, using the other to pull his hands around her waist. Then, groaning softly against his lips, she jerked him into the blackness of the hotel bedroom.


	6. Entry 6: Guarded

_Format: Oneshot_

_Word Count: 319_

_Character(s): Luke (Jane mentioned)_

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**The Doomsday Device – 6**

**Guarded**

Something had to be done, her long skirt swished in the cool breeze. The Vespers were becoming so strong, with forces rising and pledging alliance from inside and outside the defined lines of 'good' and 'evil' and 'grey-area' as she referred to them. You could trust no one, except for the one person to whom the word Vesper meant suffering, anger and served-cold revenge. She sat, by the water fountain with a bouquet of lilacs, who said Luke didn't do romance?

He sat beside her, taking her hand. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling an irrational sense of fear. "Luke, I have an idea. You and Jane, you're so important, and I think I've found a way to protect you both." She explained her idea.

"- You'll be kept completely safe with your hidden identities and the items will be scattered across the globe and protected by the best men that can be found," Luke smiled and she felt his chest shake a little with suppressed laughter. "What?"

"It's just… I'm so proud of you," Luke frowned, "And I don't know what I would do without you," he kissed her forehead. She smiled cheekily;

"Shame I can't say the same," Luke frowned. "You missed my lips," she explained, "By a fair way." Luke smiled and brought his face closer to hers, when their lips were only inches apart, he leant back.

"What if something happens to me… to Jane… to you," he sounded like a small child and the most vulnerable she had ever heard him; even after the four years of friendship they had shared. "I don't think I would be able to stand it if you… if you… and it would be my fault," she caressed his face gently and pulled him to her.

"Nothing will happen to me," she stroked his hair, "I promise, and I'll guard you, and your children and your children's children forever."


	7. Entry 7: Aftermath of War

**A/N: The final day! Thank you for sticking with me!**

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_Format: Oneshot_

_Word Count: 648_

_Character(s): Nellie, Fiske, Amy, Dan, Ian, Sinead, Ted, Ned, Natalie, Isabel, Phoenix, Jonah, Evan, Atticus, Reagan, Hamilton (Alistair mentioned)_

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**The Doomsday Device – 7**

**Aftermath of War**

All Nellie could hear was the silence. Fisk was saying something; at least, that was what she assumed. His mouth was making the exaggerated movements usually associated with the forming of words, but she couldn't bring herself to even attempt to process his sentences.

She was too horror-struck. Too stricken. Too guilty.

It was her fault; and she knew it. Watching Ian sobbing in a heart-throbbing-ly broken fashion, rocking his sister's limp and lifeless body close to his shaking chest, made Nellie choke up. She wanted to feel rage or fear or a burning fury, one of the emotions that she could deal with. Anything but the aching sadness.

Amy and Jake sat by Evan's body, crimson gore spilling from their wounds and Evan's blood congealing and turning a deep, crusty brown. Nellie could see the clean bullet wound in his chest, straight through the heart. He was luckier than some; he had a quick and almost painless death. It was Evan's face that struck Nellie the most, though. It was a look of complete surprise, his lips parted in an 'o' and his eyes wide, as though he had just seen the bullet coming.

Amy buried her face in Jakes shoulder who smiled. Nellie turned her head away, whilst it was her job to support Amy and Dan in everything (and that could mean some pretty crazy stunts), respect for the dead was something Nellie took very, _very_ seriously.

Almost as seriously as cooking.

A triplet reunion was taking place in the corner of Nellie's eye, Sinead hugging her brothers close to her and the tree of them forming a crunch-pile of crushing limbs. They were all crying, in heaving gasps and they clutched at each other like iron supporters. Alistair was never coming back; they were the heads of the Ekaterina branch now.

The Holts; or Reagan and Hamilton, as Nellie preferred to refer to them as now, were having their own reunification, neither cried or even seemed to say a word to begin with, they simply held each other tightly.

Fiske was tugging at her elbow now, but Nellie remained immovable; this might be her one and only chance to finally get under the true skin and into the final core of the Cahill family. Phoenix and Jonah embraced, both of them talking so quickly that Nellie thought it must be impossible for the other to understand, all Nellie could see was the relief and tear-tracks clear on their faces. Glancing at Dan, sitting hunched on the floor next to Atticus, who was too shocked to even cry. He just sat there listlessly, jade green eyes clouded with the pain and guilt that was overwhelming Nellie.

Finally, Nellie looked at Isabel whose face was wickedly beautiful, even in death. Nellie searched deep within her to find some of the rage that she often associated with the bigots, Lucian-Vesper. To Nellie's despair, all the emotion she could summon was a cold compassion.

The room spun dizzyingly around her, full of crumpled faces and tears. Nellie focused on each member of the room, spending an extra second on Natalie who had died so very young, in a brave, yet ill-thought-out plan that was typical of Cahills. Only once Fiske too began to choke on his hasty words did Nellie start to cry. Tears streaming down her face, no one came to comfort her. She didn't expect anyone too. They were all too caught up in their own pain and agony and shock.

It was the aftermath of war, Nellie realized. Ian's amber eyes blazed eerily as his mouth attempted to yell obscenities to the world. _And, just like war,_ Nellie thought grimly; _not all of us are going to make it._ Nellie tried to focus anywhere but at the Kabra boy, now stroking back his sister's long, obsidian hair. _In fact, I'm sure some of us won't._


End file.
